


pull the night time over your lonely skin

by growlery



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Past Finn Collins/Raven Reyes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-23
Updated: 2015-08-23
Packaged: 2018-04-16 21:21:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4640646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/growlery/pseuds/growlery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finn isn’t Raven’s soulmate, and Raven is dealing with that, but it’s a lot harder to deal with the fact that Bellamy is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	pull the night time over your lonely skin

**Author's Note:**

> a treat for yourequicksand, as part of the rbficexchange. AU on 1x11, borrows some of the dialogue from that episode and episodes following. title is from guess you heard by turin brakes.

Raven knew, even before she came to Earth, that Finn wasn’t her soulmate. It never mattered; they had something stronger, something they chose, and that was better than enough. 

(She knows, also, that he loves her, doesn’t need a bond between them to feel it, but it wasn’t enough for him, and she’s- well, she’s getting to be okay with it. He’s family. She wants him to be happy.)

The whole food supply goes up in flames, and Finn leaves camp with Clarke, and Raven sees an opportunity. She’s good at that. 

Bellamy finds her before she’s finished packing. “We need more ammo,” he says, and she holds out what she managed to make before Finn messed up her head again. “Where are you going?”

“The hell out of here,” she says, still not looking at him. He can’t read her mind, and Raven almost wishes that he could, so that he could understand, so that he could leave her the fuck alone. 

“You can’t leave,” Bellamy says, “the bond hasn’t settled yet.”

She turns on him with the full force of her anger. She knows Bellamy feels it because she can feel his hurt in return, his _I never asked for this either_ , but she’s finding it hard to be charitable right now. 

“Fuck the bond,” she says. “I’ll deal with it. I’ve had worse.”

“Wait,” he says, and stops her with a hand on her arm. 

She’s ready to punch him just for that, but he’s genuinely worried, she can feel it, even if it’s just about losing his supply of bullets. And then he looks at her with something like wonder in his eyes, says, “Come on, Raven,” and he doesn’t know her at all, not like Finn does, but he understands better than she thought. 

“What else have you got in that head of yours?” he asks, and Raven takes a second, and Raven feels the connection twisting between them, silent communication, and Raven thinks _radios_. 

“See,” he says when she tells him, smiling widely at her, “we need you,” and when he’s ducked out of her tent, Raven feels herself smile, too. 

*

Finn and Clarke don’t come back with the rest of the hunters. Raven said they were good, Raven said they were good, _Raven said they were good_. It hurts, anyway. She doesn’t know why she ever thought it wouldn’t. 

She goes straight to Bellamy’s tent. He walked right into hers, after all, like they had that kind of relationship, that closeness, and Raven supposes that, in a way, they do. 

He doesn’t look surprised to see her. She wonders if he heard, or if the bond gave her away. 

“You’re mistaking me for someone who cares,” he tells her, because he’s older than all of them and this kind of juvenile love triangle nonsense was never something he had any time for. Raven never has, either. She’s so fucking bored of it, so tired of caring so much. 

“This isn’t because of the bond,” Raven tells him, and starts taking off her clothes, smooth, clinical. She pulls her hair loose, takes off her shirt, and looks at him, knows that he wants her. He tries valiantly to keep looking at her face, but she catches him glancing down at her chest, feels his arousal pulse between them, sudden. 

She’s tired of talking. She wants to take the tension between them and pull and push and make it explode like a tin can. 

She waits, makes sure his hesitance is because of her and not because of him, and kisses him. It’s not better than kissing Finn, but it’s- different. She can feel more, not just his mouth on her mouth and his hands on her back but the full weight of the bond thrumming between them, like a switch has been flipped, like something electric. 

Bellamy isn’t like Finn, and she should stop comparing them, but Finn was all she had, _all she had_. Bellamy’s body is unknown to her, but she doesn’t want to take her time exploring. She pulls him back, drops onto his bed, feeling the weight of him on top of her, the two of them closer than they have ever been. 

(It doesn’t help, but she wasn’t expecting it to, didn’t think she’d be left with more than a dull ache.)

*

The bond settles. It’s not just sex that does it, though physical intimacy is one of the easiest ways. They would’ve been fine given enough time, but it’s a relief to be able to move more than fifty metres away from Bellamy. Raven has never liked the idea of her life centring on someone else. 

It’s funny, but they work better like this, when they’re not snapping at each others’ heels, when they’re not forced to be constantly in each others’ heads. They’re a better team, even with everything falling apart around them. 

(Raven wonders, sometimes, if they’d have been friends, without this _thing_ between them, but she’ll never know, tries not to torment herself with _maybe_ s.)

“You want to lead them,” she says, “show them that you give a damn,” and she feels Bellamy get it. 

She climbs into the underbelly of the drop ship, wonders why she’s never taken a look underneath its floors before, and makes a note to explore, later, when they’ve dealt with the whole Murphy and impending doom thing. She’s never been this scared, and only about a fifth of it is her. His fear is a solid weight in her chest, and she sends her faith back like a talisman, hopes it finds its mark. 

Bellamy’s going to be okay. Bellamy has to be okay. 

She feels his guilt before the bullet in her back, and then it’s just screaming agony until she blacks out. 

Clarke and Finn return. Finn holds her and Clarke is all soft hands and stern concern, and Bellamy hasn’t moved from her side since they got her out from under the drop ship. Clarke says Raven needs a stretcher, and Finn leaves again, but that’s okay; he’s not all she has any more. 

Bellamy doesn’t apologise when they’re left alone. He doesn’t need to. Raven can see it on his face, feel it between them. 

“You didn’t shoot me,” she says. It’s not her job to soothe his ego, to be a balm for his guilt, but he’s the person the universe decided she should spend her life with, and, more importantly, her friend. Yeah, she was down there because of him, yeah, she would’ve left camp if it weren’t for him, but she made both of those choices, and it was Murphy holding the gun. “Don’t beat yourself up about this. I’m gonna be fine.”

Bellamy smiles for the first time that day. “I know,” he says. “You’re too stubborn not to be.”

Raven smiles back, recognising it for the compliment it is, and the next time she’s wracked with pain, she takes Bellamy’s hand to squeeze. It’s not like Finn, and it never will be, and Raven is okay with that.


End file.
